


Sugar

by interztellar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baking, Bisexual Dean, M/M, cas is good at cooking AND interior design hohoho, is there anything he can't do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interztellar/pseuds/interztellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The neighbor is always cooking, and every time it smells amazing. Dean just wishes this time he hadn't chosen cinnamon rolls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The guy next door was cooking again.

Last night it had been the most beautiful pasta sauce Dean had ever smelled, and the night before he couldn’t even place a name to the rich, spicy fragrance that had come drifting through his open window. Who was this guy even cooking for? He never heard visitors, and given the apartment had a tendency to allow everything to be heard—Dean swore he could hear floorboards creak from three floors below—he knew he would’ve noticed.

He’d begun to annoy himself with this constant pondering of what was going on in the life of his neighbor. It shouldn’t matter, he shouldn’t care so much. The most neighbors usually did concerning one another was, in his experience, just gossip. They didn’t care what Cathy across the street read in her spare time, they didn’t care what time of day James two houses down preferred to do his yard work. And although, granted, smelling what one could assume was as high quality as something Gordon Ramsay would be delighted to taste from next door didn’t fit into the same category as mundane details about your neighbors it would be slightly creepy to know, Dean had definitely put the neighbor’s kitchen skills under the category of Things That Should Not Matter.

It smelled like dessert. Sweet, but doughy. Just the smell was making Dean lightheaded. It stirred memories of childhood warmth, his mother baking, stroking the side of his face, saying everything was going to be all right…

The mental punch in the gut of imissher snapped him back to now. Dean paced to the window, now irritated from his most recent trip through his memories, and peered across the span of brick that separated his apartment from the next.

The other window was open. On top of that, Dean could see the man through the window. Batter coated his arms, and music was playing softly.

“Hey!” He didn’t want to yell, but he wanted to be heard. 

The man turned and looked around. Noticing Dean, he strode to his own window, peeking his head out the window. “Yes?”

Well? Dean hadn’t planned this far. Thinking about Mary pissed him off, because she was gone and he’d hated it for decades, so he’d instinctively reacted. Now he was beginning to realize maybe he should’ve thought it through beforehand. This was the most embarrassed he’d felt in a while.

“Uh…” Dean clenched his fists by his sides, a nervous habit. “Smells good. What are you making?”

For a second, confusion bloomed in the man’s azure eyes, and Dean felt ridiculous. Smells good? Really?

“Cinnamon rolls,” the man replied. His voice was textured, almost gravelly, but not deep. “I was going to visit some family, so I wanted to make something to bring over. Does it smell like I put too much cinnamon?”

Dean didn’t know the first bit about baking. “No…?”

“Good. It’s a little late to redo everything, anyway.” The man turned to stir the dough for what was apparently a second batch.

“How many you feeding?” He was tall, face structured uniquely. His posture conveyed confidence, a hushed personality. One Dean might’ve liked to discover.

“Not many. I always make a little extra, though,” he called over his shoulder. He turned once again to a sink, just out of Dean’s view from his own window. “I’m Castiel, by the way.”

“Dean.” Then the words tumbled out of his mouth. “You, uh, want some help?”

Castiel twisted to look at him, confusion once again glinting in his eyes, a cloud in a pure blue sky. “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble. Just let me get the door. You can come right in.”

While Dean treaded through his apartment, heading out the door and a few steps down the hall, he grew increasingly flustered with himself for not getting a grip. First, it was snapping at the poor guy for doing nothing but baking. Now he’d gone and invited himself over.

When he slipped through Castiel’s door, the first thing he noticed was the art on the walls. Guy was apparently pretty skilled at interior design, all the pictures placed in complimentary arrangements, still-lifes of indigo and yellow flowers laced through beach scenes and sunsets. There was even the occasional abstract piece.

Underneath the scent of cinnamon rolls was something homier. Dean combed his mind for something to compare it to, but it was unidentifiable. Frustrating, but not in a way that would rile him up.

The kitchen was in clear view from the doorway, but Castiel still called “Over here!” Dean walked to where the man stood, coating the rolls he had already baked in frosting.

Castiel smiled, and Dean didn’t miss the wide flash of white. Suddenly he felt his lips twitching backwards, and he pursed his lips. The man was undeniably attractive, and clearly kind enough to let a neighbor who was embarrassing even to himself inside his apartment.

“So I’ll give you the easy job.” His words sounded like summer. Dean snapped back to attention, blinking, trying to compensate for having completely lost focus just a few seconds ago. “What was that?”

A firm hand pointed to the first batch of cinnamon rolls. “You can frost these, while I get the rest of the dough for the second one finished.” His face was close to Dean’s. Had he backed up against the counter? He checked, and felt granite underneath him. When had that happened? Castiel’s face was close to his, and Dean thought he saw teal eyes flicker downwards.

Castiel turned and got to work. Dean did the same.

Minutes later, Castiel pushed the second batch into the oven and set a timer. “We’re almost done,” he told Dean. “You can frost the next ones if you want, but I don’t mind doing it.”

“Sure…” Dean was looking down at the man in front of him, his cute nose, breathing in his raspberry scent that mismatched with the smell of cinnamon rolls and his home in the nicest of ways.

“You have frosting on your cheek.”

“I.. what?” He reached up to touch his cheek, feeling something. He looked at his hand. Frosting.

There was flour on Castiel’s shirt.

Suddenly a wave of something uncomfortable crashed over Dean and sucked him in like the undertow. “I-uh, actually, it’s getting late. I… should go. Have fun… with your family.” He glanced at the clock, and Castiel turned to see the time. Taking his opportunity, Dean dashed to the door, half-shouted “bye!” and ran through his door.

Inside his own home, finally, he sagged in relief. It was too soon to be attracted to Castiel—they didn’t even know each other, and it was likely Castiel wasn’t interested in other men. That whole encounter had become a mistake from the moment Castiel smiled.

But the next night, Dean was invited over to make dinner, and this time, he didn’t flee.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they are losers

It was worse the next day, despite finally having control over himself, despite not sprinting out like he needed the emergency room. And, no matter what he didn’t say to make up for his odd exit the precious night, Dean was still embarrassed, and tried to show off the cooking skills he absolutely did not have to try to put the incident behind him.

Making stuffed mushrooms was a task that Dean’s fingers weren’t quite cut out for, and he gazed defeatedly at the way Castiel nimbly reached around and shook spices, long fingers tracing paths that they’d clearly travelled before.

“So you do this every night?” Dean asked. “That sounds like a lot of grocery shopping.”

Castiel scooched the bowl of filling over and glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eyes. “No, not every night. I have a decent supply of Ramen in the pantry, and plenty of leftovers.” Cocking his head to the side to glance at Dean again, he laughed a little. “Actually, too many. Let me know if you ever want any. I haven’t been free since... I don’t know when.”

And then there it was again, smile appearing like the sun peeking out momentarily from behind piles of clouds. A single dimple blossomed on Castiel’s cheek. Dean stepped back, his stomach jumping up a little.

“I might just have to hire you,” Dean nearly choked despite his attempt to sound casual, and to cover for the strain in his voice he jerked his chin in the general direction of the mushrooms, desperately trying to lead Castiel’s eyes anywhere but him.

“So what next?”

“I can do the actual stuffing. You’re still a beginner,” Castiel replied, mock-condescendingly. “You can just hang out. Relax. Shouldn’t take long to cook, and we’re not making anything else. They’re pretty filling all by themselves.” He turned again, profile catching falling sunlight from the window to the other side of him. Dean was only a little mesmerized.

He walked to Castiel’s living room, only a few paces from where he’d been standing before, and sat down, eyes skimming over what he’d seen already from yesterday. The art on the walls, the color combinations Dean wouldn’t have been able to think of if he’d tried. It made him inwardly grimace at his own white walls and probably-mismatching furniture.

“So, what do you do?” Castiel asked minutes later, walking over to the other couch, plopping down, and crossing his legs. He studied Dean with interested, sky-blue eyes.

“I’m a mechanic. Work a few streets down. Lafitte’s Auto,” Dean answered, keeping an eye on Castiel’s legs. Snapping his gaze up, worried Castiel had noticed, he added, “I’m assuming you’re a chef somewhere.”

“No, actually.” The man looked amused. “I teach. During the school year, anyway. Kindergartners. But every once in a while I bring in cookies, if that counts.” Again, the smile. Sort of impish. Dean wanted more.

Now he was the amused one. He leaned forward again. “And in the summer?”

“Librarian.” He smiled kindly. “Actually, maybe I’ve seen you around before. You read a lot of history books?”

Dean nodded, looking sheepish. “I never really got a chance to study any of it. I, uh, actually majored in mechanical engineering.”

Castiel raised an eyebrows. “Really?”

Now he looked genuinely interested. Dean tried not to relish the way Castiel turned his head in, or uncrossed his muscular legs and tilted his torso towards Dean. And failed.

The side of his mouth cocked up, and he nodded. “I would’ve gone somewhere with it, but... you know. Family can get in the way.”

“Yes.” Castiel said almost sourly. “They can.” Then his eyes brightened. “Speaking of family, they left a couple cinnamon rolls, so I brought them back. You want to take them off my hands?”

“Uh, sure.” The evening had shifted from neighbors cooking--neighbors did that, right?--to weirdly personal, if it hadn’t been already. Maybe it wasn’t so normal to appear in your neighbor’s apartment , cook dinner together, and then share dessert that you had also made together the previous night.

But... just guys being guys, right?

Castiel was attractive. He was a great cook, he was responsible, had his life put together, and was, as much as Dean wanted to beat around the bush and pretend the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, pretty. He couldn’t look at the man without taking note of the contrast between midnight hair and afternoon eyes for the thirtieth time, and watching him cook interested him in a way that, well, he wasn’t usually interested when watching other things. Experienced hands gliding across the cutting board, mixing ingredients...

Don’t be ridiculous. He’s the neighbor. Do you really want to make things weird? You’re just now introducing yourself, you don’t even know each other very well yet.

Dean swallowed, and he watched as Castiel leaped up to check the mushrooms. “They’re ready!”

So now he was going to be having dinner with the beautiful neighbor.

Castiel set plates down on opposite ends of a small table located fairly close to the kitchen, and they sat parallel to one another, beginning to eat.

“Wow,” Dean said, looking back up at the man sitting across from him, less focused on the taste and more focused on how his shirt lay perfectly on his broad shoulders, collar casting a shadow down his neck and into the crevice where his shirt parted from his collarbone. The top button was undone. Castiel looked good in white. “These are... amazing. I’m just getting more and more impressed.”

Castiel’s eyes crinkled at the corners, as he paused before taking another bite. “Good for me, then.”

Dean halted, suddenly feeling very warm. Had he....

But nothing was added, so he kept quiet.

When dinner ended, Dean went to the door. “It was great,” he said again. Castiel was leaning against the wall, beside the door, and his shirt lifted a few centimeters above his jeans, making Dean take notice of his hip and the peek of toned stomach he could see. “Have a nice night.” Trying to ignore all this, he turned but was immediately halted.

Castiel’s hand was on his bicep.

“Um, I was wondering...” he began, looking up at Dean, the mere inch or so of difference between them becoming even more apparent as he took a step forward. “I’m flattered that you like my cooking, but maybe we could try someone else’s for a change?”

Dean felt hot, like he would start sweating any second. “Wh--like, go to a restaurant?”

Of course that was what he’d meant. Dean felt ridiculous.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, blue eyes roaming Dean’s face. “Are you busy this Thursday?”

Dean’s mouth and throat felt dry. “N-no.”

The man hesitated, then drew a breath, and said, “Okay, I could drive us somewhere. We don’t have to decide right now...”

“Sounds great.” Dean opened the door and stepped into the hallway, trying to inch away. “I’ll, uh, knock on your door.”

Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if the next part will be a restaurant scene because i feel like it'd be very hard to write but maybe

**Author's Note:**

> ACK that was a weird summary. anyway, hope you enjoyed this! and yes, i'm going to add more to this!


End file.
